Perspective
by Fatality
Summary: Everyone sees the world differently, but where there is hope, there can be change. Nights/Reala one-shot.


Reala watched the smooth gray rock skip along the hardly-rippling surface of the ocean, kept his eyes on it until it was out of sight. Beside him Nights soaked in the golden rays of sun without a word, completely at peace, euphoria shining through his slight whimsical smile.

The crimson-clad Nightmaren supposed he could understand what Nights held in such high appreciation about the place. Nowhere else in all of the limitless expanse of Nightopia was there a sea with water as clear or pristine, like the crystalline facets of the palest, most flawless sapphire; the sky was the same hue as it was everywhere, that rich blue-violet, but it was the sunlight that Reala himself found most impressive. Not the bland yellow he was accustomed to, but an almost otherworldly shower of gold and amber. He didn't just feel its warmth on his skin - he felt its magic.

Obviously proof that he had been subject to Nights's foolish idealism for far too long.

He launched a rose-pink stone with a swift flick of his wrist, watching the ripples it caused with every skimming of the water's serene surface, and then he glanced back at Nights's contented face.

"What are you thinking about?" asked the red-clad Nightmaren, a crease in his brow. Nights didn't open his eyes to answer.

"I'm thinking that if the sun shone here every moment of every day, I'd never leave."

"Is that all?" This was asked with utmost perplexity.

Nights lay back upon the fine blanket of sand, practically reflecting the sun, more godlike than anything Reala had ever laid eyes on. "You were expecting something impressive?"

"Profound. Complex, at least. I'm used to mind-melting discussions with you by now."

"I find that, often, the true beauty of Nightopia lies in the simplest things."

Reala's frown deepened; the expression may as well have been chiseled out of the perfect ivory of his face, so often did he wear it. He thought this was an odd, foolish, almost worthless perspective. "What's to appreciate? It's just sand and sun and water."

"Coming from the Nightmaren who picked a tower made of boring old obsidian to be his base of operations," chuckled Nights, and Reala shot him an acidic look. "You and I just see the world differently, Reala. It's one of the only things you've never learned from me, and I'm afraid you never will - not while you're skulking around in Wizeman's shadow, anyway."

The lieutenant Nightmaren opened his mouth to protest vehemently, but all he could manage to say was, "Not another word against Master Wizeman, Nights, at your peril. And what do you mean, we see the world differently? I see all the same things you do."

"That's not what I meant - let me give you a better example." Nights pushed himself up to his elbows, his amethyst eyes filled with the liquid gold of the sun reflecting off the ocean waves; he motioned for Reala to have a seat on his right side, but Reala's eyes squinted into a look of displeasure and he folded his strong arms over his chest instead. Nights merely shrugged his slight shoulders and pointed out into the endless blue. "Look at the ocean. Tell me what you see."

Reala lifted one hand and shielded his eyes - the sun was beginning to set, slanting its golden rays into his field of vision - and gazed out over the water. It was beautiful, certainly, but he didn't see what all the fuss was about, and decided to tell Nights as much. "I see just that - the ocean. Nothing more, nothing less."

"That's too bad," professed Nights with overdone melancholy, and Reala rolled his blue-green eyes skyward. "But it's exactly what I expected. There's so much more to see, if you would only look."

Curiosity gripped Reala, impulsive and strong, prompting him to ask the question, "What do you see?"

Now Nights clambered to his feet and edged closer to his fellow Nightmaren, pointing out toward the sparkling water; a shower of silver-and-violet twinkle dust cascaded from his extended index finger. Enchanted despite himself, Reala followed the digit with his keen eyes. "Look at the way the sunlight hits the water. If you use your imagination, it looks like thousands... millions... of diamonds...."

Reala raised one eyebrow skeptically, clearly nonplussed. "Is everything a game to you?"

Nights didn't answer directly; instead he glided with a ballerina's grace, his booted feet barely skimming the sand, to hover in front of the surly Nightmaren-in-command. Reala glared into the smaller Nightmaren's twinkling eyes with open disdain, defiant, but then Nights raised one hand up before him and Reala's breath caught in his throat. Nights's delicate white-gloved fingers settled gently upon the right side of Reala's ornate, gem-encrusted persona - he gave it an insistent tug.

"You are blinded," Nights murmured softly, "by the evil, one-track minded restrictions of Wizeman. See the world we Nightmaren were meant to see, Reala, with eyes that are not disillusioned by his lies."

It had been years since Reala had viewed Nightopia with a naked eye, an eye not cloaked by the richly decorated persona mask Wizeman had crafted personally for him to reward his unfaltering loyalty and dedication; following Nights's pointing finger again he trained his eyes onto the shimmering surface of the neverending sea, searching for the truth, or something akin to it.

What he found was a diamondlike sheen, covering the paper-thin world where the sea met the sky, and as Nights looked on with a little knowing smile Reala basked in the beauty of that unknown world with a sensation of profound awe washing over him. It was moments like these, Nights decided, these fleeting, seemingly insignificant moments of a person's life that had the most profound and lasting impacts, and every time he allowed his eyes to flit from the darkening sea to Reala's incredulous gaze he saw the difference.

Perhaps Wizeman's grip over Reala could be slackened yet. If that proved to be true, Nights thought with wonder, then there were earth-shattering things in store for Nightopia, and for him.

It was a long time later, many hours, perhaps, when either of them moved so much as an inch; Reala's only movement was to reach out, tug the persona carefully out of Nights's slackened grip, and toss it carelessly into the surf, where it was claimed by the tide flowing out into the vast ocean to become one more diamond within the shimmering sea. 


End file.
